


Shattered Romanticism of a God

by Strudelmugel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Dates, Band Fic, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Metal Band AU, Mild Kink, Rating: M, Relationship(s), Working Out Together, berwald is such a sap, blogger tino, gratuitous references to tino's jiggly man boobs, i solemnly swear the word instrument will only be used in reference to musical instruments, it's weird writing fics with no angst, kinky tino, listen i had to write actual songs for this, okay maybe there's a touch of angst but nothing compared to what i've written, this is the most pretentious fic name i've ever come up with, tino is thirsty af through this entire fic, tinoxmosh pit, uralic trio cousins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2018-10-08 14:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10388952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strudelmugel/pseuds/Strudelmugel
Summary: Tino hadn't expected a lot of things. He hadn't expected the relatively unknown band he was reviewing to actually be good.  He hadn't expected its lead singer to be absolutely gorgeous. And he certainly hadn't expected to spend the next few months falling for such a wonderful man.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Vidar- Norway
> 
> ...
> 
> Why do I do this to myself? Why must I start so many stories? This isn’t self-love man.  
> But I have wanted to write another SuFin multichapter fic for ages now because I love them and have been using them as a side pairing for five years now. This is actually a little different to my other fics in that it’s more… fic-like, if that makes sense. It’s mostly fluff and a bit of humour, and focuses on the characters’ relationship and how it builds, rather than complex plot first, characters' relationship second, which is what I normally do. So this’ll be interesting to write.  
> It’s also the first fic I’m writing that will contain smut. Usually I just keep that for PWP but I’m… curious to try it out. So yeah that and alcohol are the only things I really need to put a warning up for. Again, this feels really strange. It’s actually mind-boggling not writing angst...  
> Oh, and Kukkamuna is Hanatamago in Finnish. Credit to tumblr user peteradnan for that.

 

Tino didn’t think himself that much of a presumptuous person. He strived to keep an open mind about most aspects in life- to see good until proven bad like some insufferable optimist- but in the end he was human. A flawed little human who wasn’t quite sure if he was looking forward to the evening’s plans.

A night out with his friends was, honestly, just what he needed right now- after a week cooped up inside working on that piece for his blog he wanted nothing more than to relax, talk with other human beings, and maybe get a little shitfaced. It would be good to catch up, but Tino wasn’t entirely sure about the presumably amataur band they were seeing. Something Pagans. He wasn’t too sure what his mate had called them but he wasn’t going to bet that they were anything special.

He knew Vidar’s cousins were in the band, and the man seemed pretty damn keen for him to come along and see them. Exposure, he supposed. Tino could do a little spot on them if they were good- or bad. No wait, he couldn’t go bad mouthing Vidar’s family like that. He’d not mentioned the blog at all, but Tino guessed that was what he was hoping for: there was always something else going on with Vidar and that tick-tocking mind of his. If Tino tried to avoid writing about them, he might notice and feel hurt. And thus, if they were bad, Tino would have to choose between his reputation- and career- and loyalty to his friend. Oh boy.

Tino groaned in his chair, leaning back to stretch as he glanced at his computer, sat snug in the corner of the main room of his flat. Every few seconds he’d refresh the page to have a little gander at his latest blog entry- and any new comments. He loved the compliments, of course, and there were the insightful opinions, and then there were the people who thought they knew more about the subject than him. Oh those were soon shut down. No one knew more about metal and metal bands than he did.

Maybe he revelled in the thrill of an internet fight a little too much. And maybe he really did need to get outside more. Even his shopping was done on the internet and sometimes Tino could go a whole week without leaving his building.

And he wasn’t exactly one for keeping up appearances when he had nowhere to go, and it took ages to look as cute as he did. When he didn’t try, he was borderline terrifying.

Speaking of which, he’d have to crack on if he didn’t want to look like a troll compared to Vidar and his little brother- both of whom could easily pass for elves or incubi or some other pretty fucking mythical creature- and the final member of their little party- his own cousin Eduard- was a particularly dazzling guy. Wouldn’t he look a picture in old, stained jog bottoms; a frayed jumper that was currently constricting his belly and moobs; and his hair sticking up in every imaginable direction. At least his glare would stop people from questioning what he was doing in a mosh pit. What did they mean he looked fragile anyway? Just because he was short and had a babyface. Still, a few elbows to various jaws and no one doubted how tough he was in a hurry.

Tino’s blood ran cold as a thought struck him: what if there wasn’t a mosh pit? 

Well, there’d be a pretty small turnout, given how unknown the band was, and the room itself would probably be tiny. Still, he’d just drag Eduard onto the floor and make his own mosh pit, regardless about what the guy thought.

Tino half-lifted himself from his swivel chair, refreshed the page one last time and- lo and behold- someone had decided to start an argument with him regarding something he’d written. Tino cracked his knuckles as he prepared to drag this little fucker into the ground.

 

...

 

Three hours later, the argument had descended into correcting each other’s grammar and Tino was running horribly late. What the hell had he been thinking? Oh fuck- Eduard would be here any minute now and he still looked like a troll! And not even a hot troll, like those ones he sometimes caught Vidar drawing, with a strong jaw and manly eyebrows. No, some ugly troll that lived under a bridge and ate children.

He stumbled into his bedroom with a yelp, waking his dog with a start. Kukkamuna yapped as he began pulling clothes from his wardrobe into the bed where she’d been sleeping, and she was soon buried under an old t shirt, a flapping sheet of a ghost-dog darting round.

Tino was in just as much of a state, if he was being honest with himself. 

Did he have time to shower? Could he get away with just dousing himself in aftershave and air freshener? 

Tino assaulted his hair with a brush as he studied his outfit choices. It wasn’t that his hair was very thick, moreso that it was fine and wispy, and stuck up wherever it pleased. Tino guessed he’d have to make some sort of effort with his outfit, since he was going out and all. Honestly, his lucky brown sleeveless jumper seemed like the best choice for a night out, but it probably wasn’t metal enough for such a crowd. He liked the idea of black skinny jeans though, something to hug his butt and get the attention of any cute singles. Hopefully.

That left the shirt. To be honest, Tino didn’t fancy wearing any band t shirts to see a different band. It felt too weird, but did cut down his options by about seventy five percent. Maybe one of his t shirts with those quirky sayings- they were always good. 

A knock to the door left him jumping and reaching for a random shirt at the same time, and Tino just went with what he’d picked- ‘never fear, the Finn is here’- as he darted out of the room. He shoved it over his head, and just let his t shirt hang around his neck, not bothering with sleeves as he fumbled with the lock.

Sure enough, it was Eduard, looking like he’d stumbled over straight from work: sweaty, scruffy and a little tired.

“Well at least I won’t be the worst looking tonight,” Tino commented.

“Nice,” Eduard sniffed in mock-hurt, “pretty judgemental for a guy with his tits out.”

“I might be a little behind,” Tino grumbled as he pulled his shirt on.

“So I can wash my face and borrow some deodorant?” Eduard shuffled past, making a beeline for Tino’s room only to be greeted by a rather excited Kukkamuna, leaping up to paw at his shins. Because what difference would dog hair make at this point?

“Aww, Kukka wants to say hi to Uncle Ed,” Tino gushed, much to his cousin’s disdain.

“For the last time,” Eduard sighed, “your dog is not your child, and is certainly not my niece.”

Tino gave an offended cry, bending down to cover Kukkamuna’s ears.

“Oh come on she can’t hear me!”

“I don’t come into your home and insult your laptop,” he whined. Eduard hated it when Tino went near his baby- something about sticky fingers from all the sweets he ate. 

“So who are we seeing?” asked Ed, rather quickly.

“Some new band, I guess,” maybe he should’ve paid closer attention to what his best friend had been saying. “Do you remember Vidar’s cousins?”

“Vaguely.” Eduard wandered into Tino’s room to grab supplies in the form of deodorant and some aftershave, even though he had a sneaking suspicion he’d end up smelling like blood, alcohol and weed by the end of the night. “Oh that reminds me,” he added, glancing down at Tino’s lucky jumper, “I have to phone grandad.”

“Wow. But yeah they sing in this band. I think one was this tiny freckled scruff and the other was sort of lanky, like.” Tino scratched his chin, “Tall, I think he hated me.”

Eduard paused. “Really? Why invite us then?”

“I’m guessing Vidar wants me to write about them. I hope the guy doesn’t mind me being there.” Tino just shrugged at that, “whatever, I’ll be drinking anyway.” 

“Don’t go mad now,” Eduard raised his hands, looking somewhat apprehensive.

“Why on earth would I ever?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tolli- Iceland
> 
> Adriaan- Netherlands
> 
> Gunner- Denmark
> 
> Luca- Luxembourg
> 
>  
> 
> ...
> 
>  
> 
> You know, as much as I was so excited planning this, it’s actually pretty hard to write. But tbh I could just be going into a general writing slump. Oh boy. This did get more fun as I got into it though, haha, and to be honest it probably was just the fact that this chapter was so long.
> 
> Sorry for the dialogue though- my humour is still rather immature. Maybe one day I will grow up and develop a more refined sense of humour, but until then tits cock bum willy.

 

_Screaming_ Pagans. They were the _Screaming Pagans._

Tino hadn’t really known what to expect, but he supposed this rather pathetic back room was all such an unknown band could afford at the moment. It had all he personally needed though: a bar and raised seating area for when he needed to catch his breath and floor a shot; a dancefloor that could be used for moshing; and his three closest friends. Well, his best friend and their two family members tagging along, not entirely of their own free will.

The band hadn’t started yet, so the friends were slouched at the bar, Tino observing the turnout. There couldn’t be much more than fifty people here, but that was fine by him; he could make it a party even if it was just the four of them. All he needed was music and alcohol. Speaking of which… 

“I’ll have a vodka,” he announced to the bartender, who nodded uncertainly.

“A shot?”

“Nah. Just bring me the bottle.”

“You said you weren’t getting smashed,” Eduard grumbled.

Tino scoffed at that. “Please, it’s just one bottle.” And at these stupid Swedish prices that was all it would be. ...To start with.

“Hey I think that’s one of the band members,” Tolli hissed at them. Vidar Jensen’s little brother was the youngest of the group by a fair bit, a strange boy Tino could never quite figure out. Being alone with the kid usually involved them staring past each other as Tino fought the urge to ask him why he sounded like a Lazy Town character. They did have some things in common, Tino had noted throughout the years: a love of eyeliner, for one thing, an addiction to liquorice, for another.

“Is that one of your cousins?” asked Tino, following Tolli’s gaze to find someone who looked like they could be related to the brothers. He was tall, with way more hair gel than was needed for a human being. His hair resembled a tulip, now that Tino thought of it, or a grenade if he unfocused his eyes.

“No that’s the bass player,” Vidar rolled his eyes, “honestly Tino have you forgotten my cousins already?”

“...No,” Tino smiled innocently, “it’s just been a while. They probably look different, right?”

Vidar smiled a knowing smile, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Well you might be in for a surprise then,” Tolli commented. 

“I think they will too,” Vidar added, looking Tino up and down, “you certainly look the part.”

“I try.”

“Better than that grandad jumper I caught in your room,” said Eduard, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

“Oh not the grandad jumper,” Tolli groaned, “it’s bad enough you act like a dad all the time.”

“I do not,” Tino grumbled, “I’m young and swaggy and know about the ‘yolos’ and ‘memes’.” For added embarrassment, he deliberately mispronounced ‘memes’ too. And, to no one’s surprised, it had the desired effect on Tolli.

“Stop it,” he cried, “you’re a crusty old dad with no kids!”

“Well that’s nice,” Tino sighed, “and after I bought beer for you all those times when you were younger.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Hey I think the band’s setting up,” Eduard pointed towards the stage, where the bass player from before was tuning his instrument in front of a set of drums, now joined by an almost equally tall young man, electric guitar in hand and laughing loudly at something. He, too, seemed to be rather liberal in his hair gel usage. Or maybe his hobby was licking toasters. Who was Tino to judge?

The four made their way to one of the tables in the back, slightly higher than the stage and dance floor, just off to the right where Tino could see the band clearly.

“Now _that_ one’s my cousin,” said Vidar, “Gunner the guitarist.”

Eduard blinked. “Well he certainly got tall.”

“And loud,” Tolli added with a sigh.

“Ooh, and the drummer too,” Tino grinned as a shorter and thinner man- with startling white hair- climbed on stage, followed by another boy. He was the only member of the group with remotely long hair, Tino noted. It covered half his face, as he found out when the boy sat behind his keyboard. 

“We’ll be starting shortly,” Gunner spoke into the mic, grinning apologetically. 

Vidar raised his eyebrows. “Just need the lead singer.”

“Is he any good?” Tino scanned the crowd for this mysterious singer, wondering just who they were. He hoped they had long hair, like a majestic viking, and knew how to do their own makeup. Well, he’d have to stare at them all night so he hoped they were easy on the eyes. Oh, and could actually sing metal. That would help. If they sounded like shit then he was leaving. Sod Vidar's nepotism.

The guy he eventually saw joining his fellow band members on stage didn’t have long hair- rather it was cropped really short-, but oh boy was he a beauty. Tino’s jaw dropped shamelessly at the sight of those ripped muscles, visible under a Screaming Pagan’s t shirt and covered in beautiful tattoos; dozens of intricate pieces of art, detailing Norse mythology- the kind Tino could spend hours staring at and tracing his fingers over.

He had a stormy glare and eyes that could probably drill into Tino’s soul and dissect all they found, should they look upon him. Honestly, the guy was so big and muscly he could probably subdue an orc to make it his own personal bitch. And those leather trousers _\- holy shit_! It was the most gorgeous sight imaginable, but at the same time Tino did find the whole thing unfair: when he wore leather trousers he looked like a Goddamn couch. And yes, Berwald's eyeliner was perfect too.

This man was just so beautiful, so handsome that Tino felt like a complete idiot for staring but at the same time, why wasn’t everyone else? He was gorgeous, divine, like something made in a lab with Tino in mind. 

“So that one’s my other cousin, Ber-”

“I want him inside me right now.”

“Tino!”

Vidar pulled a face. “Like I said, my other cousin Berwald. My family. Who I watched grow up.”

“Berwald, huh?” Tino’s chest heaved as Berwald drank from a water bottle and turned to listen to whatever Gunner was saying. Oh how he’d love to be that bottle. “Fuck, he’s so manly and beefy and strong and beefy and tall and bee-”

“We get it, Tino,” Tolli sighed, “seriously, when was the last time you went on a date?”

Tino shrugged. “I dunno, like six months.”

Eduard nodded an understanding nod. “At least that explains, well-”

“Why I want to play with his band member?”

“Did you have to put it that way?” Vidar narrowed his eyes.

“Look, reckon you could get me his number?”

“We’re hanging out with the band afterward. Get it yourself, so long as you promise to not be creepy.”

“Why would I ever?”

Vidar was spared the need to reply with the overwhelming blare of a familiar song, resonating through Tino’s body in all its live glory.

So Tino considered himself something of a Finnish metal supremacist, but he was willing to admit there were bands from all over the world he loved too, and right up there in the great-but-not-as-good-as-Finnish-metal list was Sabaton. Quite fittingly, Berwald was stepping up to the mic to sing lejonet från norden, and when he opened his mouth Tino was blown away.

His voice was deep, like honey, with a gravely quality reminiscent of honeycomb that seemed to vibrate off his heart. It soothed him, with it’s heavy Swedish accent that stuck when the guy sang. He really was a Lion of the North. When he voiced these thoughts to his friends, Vidar gave the longest sigh possible.

“Are you hungry or horny?” asked Eduard nervously.

“Either way, stay away from my fridge,” added Tolli.

“Shut up I’m listening to the music,” he chirped, leaning forward to rest his chin on a hand. Sometimes Berwald’s words didn’t come out so clear, nervously garbled, but he could still hold a note, still keep him enthralled with that powerful, deep voice.  

All too soon, the song ended and he fell back, looking a little awkward at the applause and cheers he was getting, the loudest being from Tino, rocking dangerously in his chair. It was then that the guitarist stepped forward, wiping his forehead and laughing.

“Good evening everyone,” he boomed, “I hope you’re ready to have a fucking good time tonight.” More cheering. Tino took another swig of vodka.

“My name is Gunner Axel Densen and we’re the Screaming Pagans!” He laughed at the noise that followed, “my main man Berwald and I will be singing for you, and these fuckers will be playing on some not-so-important instruments- you know how this works by now.” The drummer threw one of his sticks at the back of Gunner’s head, and he just shrugged as he passed it back.

“Okay, okay, drummer guy is Gilbert,” he boomed, “bass is Adriaan and keyboard is Luca. And we will all be taking care of you fucks tonight.”

Tino gave a cheer, and nearly fell out of his seat. Thankfully, his skilled hand didn’t spill a drop of vodka. When he had kids he’d have to teach them the ancient, sacred skill of falling over and not spilling their drink, or he would have to disown them. Not really though. 

“Now I know you’re not here to listen to me talk,” Gunner continued, “so we’ll just get on with things. Hope you don’t mind a bit of Judas Priest.”

So they were a cover band, then, it seemed. Not that Tino particularly minded, but he was curious to see if they had any original material too. Though to be honest, Berwald could sing his own shopping list and Tino would listen, completely enthralled. 

It was Gunner that started then, both hands on the mic and shrieking to a silent room.

“Twisting the strangle grip won’t give no mercy; feeling those tendons rip, torn up and mean-”

The music joined him with a blast, Berwald stepping up to join in, much to Tino’s relief.

“Twisting the strangle grip won’t give no mercy,” whatever he sang, it was beautiful, it seemed. The sheer power behind his voice was stunning, a force that dropped his stomach and cleansed his ears and soul.

He knew he was loud and completely out of tune when he sang, but when Tino joined in the chorus, he imagined it was just them, singing to each other in a slightly sloppy but beautiful duet. He might have even reached out a hand, and Vidar might have cackled at that.

“All guns, all guns blazing!”

It was over too soon for Tino’s liking yet again, but his craving for Berwald’s voice was satisfied again and again with striking renditions of Týr, Månegarm and Fejd, the folk metal letting his lilt come through. It seemed to be the Screaming Pagan’s personal favourite genre. It also turned out that the Screaming Pagans had a few songs of their own, and pretty good ones too. Tino had only a passing interest in Norse mythology- if it wasn’t sung about he didn’t care- and oh boy was he interested in anything Berwald had to say. He even found himself swaying and singing along to the choruses. 

_ I’ll fight to the end, Ragnarök won’t bring me down... _

When the song ended Tino got up to go to the bar again, and order another bottle for the table. As he waited, he noticed that there was only one person dancing so far, a young woman dancing like a middle-aged mum at a birthday party, clapping proudly after each song, much to the obvious embarrassment of the bass and keyboard players. Tino laughed at the sight though, hoping to join her when he was a little more confident. And drunk.

When he threw himself back down in his chair, Gunner said something that certainly caught the attention of one member of their group: “our next song is all the way from Estonia! It’s actually an old folk song we’ve put our own spin to, and by that I mean we sing it a bit louder.” A chuckle rippled through the audience at that.

“Please,” Eduard whispered, fingers crossed, “please be...”

“It’s a lovely story, really,” Gunner continued, “about love. A beautiful love.” Someone standing at the edge of the dancefloor called him a sappy cunt.

“I know, I know,” he laughed, “but I hope you’ll like this song as much as you do-”

“Come on,” muttered Eduard.

“Koit ja Hämarik!”

In a rare display, Eduard jumped from his seat to cheer and whoop as the music began, and Tino clapped along. He noticed how his cousin seemed jumpy, like he was desperate to get up and dance, but when he took Eduard’s hand he just shook his head. He sang along though, under his breath, not even caring that Estonian was clearly a language Berwald wasn't competent in.

But when the next song came on there was no way Tino was sitting around any longer.

“Rise of nations pride-”

“TALVISOTA!” He screamed, throwing his arms in the air and jumping to his feet. Okay, time to fucking mosh! “Right, everyone down to the dance floor; let’s fucking party!”

Eduard groaned. “Ti, I don’t-”

“Shuddup I need you. If my jiggly moobs can handle the pit, so can you.” With one hand, Tino clutched the neck of his vodka bottle and with the other he grabbed Eduard’s sleeve, guiding him down to the dance floor as the Jensen brothers followed. Tino let go of Eduard the moment he was in the pit, dancing with the woman from earlier, all too happy to mosh with him, even if her elbows tended to stay at eye level. To her credit, she just embraced the company. Whilst Eduard pogo’d awkwardly off to one side, Tino and Vidar body-slammed each other repeatedly like demented penguins as Tino’s drunken warble joined Berwald and Gunner’s significantly more professional singing. Thankfully, more people soon took the opportunity to join them in the pit, so they looked less ridiculous.

“With molotov cocktail in hand, no fear of their tanks,” he took a swig of vodka and jumped in the air, “death or glory!”

The only time Tino stopped dancing was to help Tolli and the strange lady up when they fell; apart from that he was going full force. And when the song ended, he didn’t get a break because the next one was only ‘White death’ followed by ‘Soldier of three armies’! He was having the time of his life dancing and thrashing and at times looking and feeling like he was about to have a heart attack.

But just when he thought he could catch his breath- there weren’t any other Sabaton songs about Finland, surely- no, Gunner just jumped straight into Lordi, of all things. Fucking _Lordi_! His all time favourite band!

He tried to get Berwald’s eye contact during his drunken rendition of ‘night of the loving dead’- even though the band was actually playing ‘raise hell in heaven’- but was a little too busy flailing all over the place to actually lock on. When the song finished, his nose might have been bleeding but he didn’t particularly care.

“Okay motherfuckers,” Gunner announced proudly, before we go to an interval, we’ll round off the first half with a song dedicated to the _happy_ _little_ _boozer_ down front. He caught Tino’s eye and winked, and Tino almost burst a blood vessel cheering. 

“But before that, I want you fuckers down the front to split into two teams,” he continued with a boom, “who says you can’t make a wall of death with only twenty people?”

It was honestly impressive how Eduard was able to dematerialize the way he did, like he had quite literally disappeared in the blink of an eye, but that was his business, and Tino for one was looking forward to the wall of death enough for the both of them.

“Fucking part that shit already!” Gunner was on one knee now, gesturing with a hand for everyone to move.

Tino found himself at the front of the crowd, right next to the dancing woman and across the pit from Vidar. Oh this was on now. 

“Hold it! Don’t anyone move!”

Tino hopped from foot to foot, breathing heavy and almost drowning in his own sweat. His face must have been bright red at this point, and his hair plastered itself to his forehead and cheeks like a clingy, itchy jumper, but he was more than ready.

“Go!”

He ran full force at Vidar, and the two collided in an almost skull-shattering crash.

… 

Okay, Tino’s nose was definitely bleeding now, and a tooth may have come loose. The look was completed rather nicely was a black eye, all courtesy of Vidar’s solid cranium. He’d managed to stumble through the last song of the first half, waving his empty bottle like the happy little boozer he was, before the music stopped and the dancers dispersed, and Tino was able to help Eduard find out which corner of the hall his glasses had been flung to.

Glasses safely retrieved, and found to be in one piece, the cousins had returned to their table, where Tino was currently watching Vidar and Tolli talk to their own cousins at the bar, Gunner laughing the loudest as he ruffled Tolli’s hair.

Berwald was there too, saying nothing but staring at his family warmly. Tino longed to go over there and say ‘hi’, nothing too risky. Should be simple. He could go right now if he wanted to. He could walk over there and introduce himself. He could stop stalling and overthinking things.

“You gonna talk to him?”

Tino jumped slightly, sucking the head of his empty bottle and mumbling into the glass. “Maybe.”

“Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“I make a twat of myself?” He was drunk enough that that was a certainty, but not drunk enough to be beyond caring. And maybe he did actually want to make a good- proper- first impression. And Berwald probably hated him. His intimidating glare said so.

Tino wasn’t quite sure he could take that chance.

“Look, we’ll all probably be hanging around after the show,” Eduard tried, “maybe you can try then. And if you fail you can just get out of there, no big deal.”

Tino gave a half-hearted laughed at that. “Yeah, sure. I’ll give it a try.”

 

...

 

The second half was a more subdued affair for Tino, largely because he didn’t go back in the mosh pit, instead opting to slouch at his table, nursing another bottle of vodka and his trembling nerves. Berwald was probably so serious and would look down- metaphorically, this time- at him for being so silly and a bit of a mess and what if Vidar had told him all the things Tino had been saying? What if he was creeped out?

But on the other hand, what if he was interested? 

...In what universe would he be?

“Our next song,” Gunner was saying, and Tino tried to snap out of his slump to pay attention. “Our next song was written by this fanny here,” he cuffed the back of Berwald’s head affectionately, “so go easy on him or he’ll cry.” Tino perked up at that slightly. A song Berwald himself wrote? 

“This one,” Gunner fished a collection of Viking helmets from behind the drums, and the good authentic shit too, Tino noted at the lack of horns, “is call ‘the Maiden’.”

_Oh_. Tino slumped back in his seat. A song about a girl? Strange, Vidar had let slip that Berwald was only interested in men, so why-? Was the song a beard? Was Vidar messing with him?

And to think all he wanted was a relaxing night out. 

Berwald looked handsome in his helmet, stepping forward as the musical tone took on a folky atmosphere. “O’ the maiden she lives in my heart.”

“In my heart!” Bellowed the other four. 

“In my soul though we are far apart.”

“Far apart!” Gunner took Berwald by the elbow, the pair dancing in a sloppy circle.

“My one love from the very start.”

“Very start!”

“A radiance pure, fine art.”

“Fine art!”

Tino didn’t mind a bit of neofolk too, and such a huge, intimidating man dancing about, singing a love song he wrote himself was certainly a sight to tug on the heartstrings. It was such an endearing scene.

“My maiden she shines so bright.”

“So bright!”

“Eyes sparkling, glistening twilight.”

“Twilight!”

“Hair of wheat, feather light.”

“Blowing light!”

“Skirt in the wind takes flight.”

“Flitting sprite!”

“I’d be his fair maiden any day,” Tino joked, back to his usual self, just for now at least. And fuck it, he could actually see him and Berwald, hand in hand, frollicking through a meadow in some oldass Viking clothing. Maybe they could be on their way to fight dragons.

“You? A fair maiden?” Vidar smirked at that.

“What?” Tino sniffed, “I could be.” 

“Right, sure.”

He could be a maiden if he wanted to. It wasn’t high on his list of things to be, but he could if he tried. Really, _really_ hard.

“Maiden pure, our love endure, my life would give, to keep you safe...”

_I need a man like that_ , Tino thought to himself, for once glad he’d not said it aloud. 

“You’ll never see, I long fer you, oh how I wish, you loved me too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh Denmark’s high-pitched dub voice would be perfect for Judas Priest covers. To be completely honest, I slightly prefer Sabaton’s cover of ‘all guns blazing’ because every time the word ‘all’ is said in the JP version it sounds like a dude bust a nut but it was really painful. I’ve ruined Judas Priest for everyone now, haven’t I?
> 
> I’ve only had a third of a bottle of vodka at one time and it destroyed me. Tino’s a little beast with alcohol holy shit.
> 
> Oh, and if you’re curious about the full setlist, here it is [minus the original songs, because they’re not actual songs]:
> 
>  
> 
> Lejonet från norden- Sabaton
> 
> All Guns Blazing- Judas Priest
> 
> Blood of heroes- Týr
> 
> Bergakungen- Fejd
> 
> Odin owns ye all- Månegarm
> 
> Koit ja Hämarik
> 
> Talvisota- Sabaton
> 
> White Death- Sabaton
> 
> Soldier of three armies- Sabaton
> 
> Raise hell in heaven- Lordi
> 
> Happy little boozer- Korpiklaani
> 
>  
> 
> Well, that’s all for the first half. There would be more in the second half, of course, but it’s getting a little long now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isabel - Belgium
> 
> ...
> 
>  
> 
> This fic is a clusterfuck and a mistake, and so is SuFin. But I’m having fun too. And I do love SuFin so much :D

Only a handful of people stayed after the show, milling about in the bar just off of the reception as the band packed up their instruments, including Tino, sipping on a water upon request of Eduard. The man himself had decided to go straight home to nurse the purple bruise on his forehead after convincing a dour Tino to come back in the mosh pit with him, and Tino subsequently- but accidentally- punching him into the stage. He did stop dancing in order to help his cousin though, naturally. ‘Twilight of the Thunder God’ was certainly a fitting song to lose a tooth to, in a way. Tino, meanwhile, was currently more preoccupied with wondering whose blood was now on his shirt.

Vidar and Tolli were next to him, bickering in Norwegian that he couldn’t be bothered to follow, and at the table next to him was that dancing woman, with bright red lipstick and a brighter smile, in conversation with a man built like a tank. He actually looked like he was at home here, in his black tank top and seemingly endless supply of muscles, but Tino still got the impression this wasn’t quite his scene, less so than Miss smiley and her pastel pink cat jumper.

They were the only five people waiting for the band.

Tino didn’t think too much of it- the Screaming Pagans were new, but it was a little disappointing that no one really wanted to get their autographs, or a photo with the band. Tino was going to ask for both, nerves permitting. He’d like Berwald’s phone number too, but was pretty certain that was too far fetched an outcome.

The second half of the show certainly picked up after Tino had been pulled out of his mope, with good music and a bit of a laugh, and now he was nursing his little bottle of water and clutching his new Screaming Pagans t shirt, fresh in its plastic wrapper and not coming out until Tino himself was clean and sterilized. Or if the band agreed to sign it. Actually, would there actually be a pen that would show up on black material? Whatever, they could just sign the CD and poster he bought too. Berwald looked just as good on paper, and said poster would certainly find a nice home on his bedroom wall, somewhere where he could easily kiss the beautiful man goodnight.

He really needed to get out more.

“Hey wow thanks for waiting,” Gunner waved cheerily, closely followed by the rest of the band. They were sweaty, dishevelled, but absolutely glowing with energy. Berwald hung behind, eyeing Tino of all people with a stony glare. The fuck had he done now? Well, besides act like a complete dipshit for the whole evening.

He could kiss that number goodbye then.

“Good show,” cooed cat jumper lady, scrambling up and running over to Adriaan and Luca. She pulled the pair of them into a crushing hug, ruffling Adriaan’s hair and effectively ruining what looked like hard work. Adriaan seemed only half-annoyed at that though.

“Thank you, Isabel,” gasped Luca, patting her back gently as he tried not to get makeup on her jumper.

“Hey Luddy, did ya enjoy the show?” the drummer, Gilbert, bounded over to the big muscly guy, ruffling his gelled hair, lightly punching his shoulder and laughing.

“Very good, yes,” ‘Luddy’ sighed. “You’ve been practicing hard, I see.”

Gilbert beamed. “I try. Well, as you know, Ludwig, I don’t really need to but just to make sure-”

“Little sloppy in places,” admitted Ludwig, “but I can let things slide.”

“You certainly let a lot of beer slide down your throat.”

“Glad you could make it though,” Gunner practically boomed as he pulled Vidar and Tolli into a hug, “and you brought some friends too.” He glanced at Tino and winked, before his sharp blue eyes began searching the room. “Where’s the other guy?”

“He had to go home,” Tino admitted, wondering just what he could do to make it up to Eduard.

Gunner nodded in understanding. “Got knocked about pretty bad, huh?”

“You saw that then?” Tino gave a wince.

“Saw? If ya don’t recall, I was standing on the stage you whacked him into.”

“Sure he didn’ mean ta.” It took a moment for Tino to register just where that voice had come from. When Berwald talked, it certainly didn’t have the same presence as his singing voice, although it was still rather beautiful, Tino would be willing to admit. His accent was heavier, and his mumble more pronounced. And now he’d come forward in Tino’s defense? He was too stunned to reply. Partly because he was certain the man thought lesser of him, and partly because he’d just realise Berwald had the most beautiful eyes in existence.

He couldn’t tell if they were a bluish-green, or a greenish-blue, but he would opt for the latter if he had to pick. They were like a mountain pool hit with the first whisper of dawn light; sunlight filtered through ice; an ocean, calm after a raging storm; a- damn right he could be a poet, his old high school teacher didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about. Stupid Ms Nieminen.

“I didn’t,” he eventually squeaked out, “honest.”

“Ah we know,” Gunner laughed, “just fucking with ya!”

“Hey I’m going to be reviewing your band so be careful who you fuck with.” Tino took another swig of water, as if that would prove anything.

“You’re the blogger then?” Gunner’s eyes seemed to light up at that, “Vidar’s told me all about you. Hope you have good things to say about us.”

“Entirely, I really liked you guys,” Tino’s smile took a wicked turn, pushing his merch towards Gunner’s side of the table, “if you all sign my shit.”

“Hey boys get over here!” Gunner waved the rest of the band down, “get a pen and sign this shit!”

Berwald was the first to move, taking the pen Gunner held out to him and pausing just above the poster.

“Jus’ sign your name,” Gunner rolled his eyes, “I know we never get asked for autographs but it’s not that hard.”

Berwald grumbled to himself as he scribbled something in the corner of the poster, glaring at his own face so intently Tino feared the poster would burst into flames.

“Oh, and I’ll need to ask a few questions, you know, about the band’s history and stuff,” he added.

Gunner nodded in understanding. “Talk to Berwald here,” he patted his cousin’s back, “he’s our main guy. The band was his idea, after all.”

“Oh?” A good or bad thing, Tino couldn’t tell. At least he could actually exchange words with Berwald, and have those beautiful eyes glare at him.

The guy in question just nodded, a little awkwardly to be honest.

“Yeah, you two go for a walk while we sign,” Gunner, grabbed the pen to scribble his own name.

“Okay, but stick around because I’ll want a photo with all of you.” And with that, Tino tentatively took Berwald’s arm and lead him outside. The air out in the open was chilly, but he didn’t mind at all- hell, Tino barely noticed it half the time. Out in the carpark, they were completely alone, a slight breeze playing with the sleeves of Berwald’s t shirt. Tino wasn’t too sure he liked how the guy looked in the half-light, face creased and scowling.

“So,” he began, not wanting to waste any time, “how come you wanted to start a band in the first place?”

Berwald shrugged. Well this was going to go well.

Tino groaned. “Look, did I do something to offend you? Because you’re looking at me like you wanna kill me and dump me in that skip over there. Whatever you have to say, you can just say it to my face. I'll understand.”

It was a full thirty seconds before Berwald seemed to find the right words to reply. “Fuckin’ contacts are useless. Left m’glasses at home. Nearly blind now.”

“Oh, so that’s your regular face,” Tino grimaced and Berwald nodded, “my bad.”

Berwald made a noise that might’ve been a chuckle.

Tino might’ve joined in with that. “Look, sorry. I don’t go out much so I’m not too good with communicating.”

Berwald raised an eyebrow. Okay, pot kettle black.

“You’re a good singer though,” Tino tried, playing with the corner of his own t shirt, “especially that first one, holy fuck.” He decided not to mention the food-related imagery he’d come up with to describe Berwald’s voice- that was too stupid.

“Gustavus Adolphus,” Berwald nodded, “favourite ‘storical figure.”

“Oh? Yeah, he’s… cool.” Tino knew nothing about Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden that wasn’t mentioned in the Sabaton song, and his one quick browse of Wikipedia.

“‘Nd you?”

“Simo Häyhä!” There was no need to think about it, Tino had idolized the man since he was little. He'd almost wept the first time he listened to 'White Death'.

“Shoulda known.”

“Because I’m Finnish?”

Another shrug.

Tino chewed on the inside of his mouth as he thought of something else to say. “I liked your versions of ‘Swedish Pagans’ and ‘Leather Rebel’ too.” Or more specifically, how his plump, leather-clad arse rebelled against physics. For one horrifying moment, Tino had to recall if he’d just said that out loud.

Berwald just nodded, looking a little unsure of himself.

“I love your tats by the way,” Tino reached a hand up to stroke his arm, but Berwald just flinched, a murderous glare thrown in Tino’s direction.

“Oh, sorry,” he mumbled.

“S’fine,” the glare had subsided now, somewhat, “didn’t see ya.” He waved a hand on front of his face as a reminder. “Scared me a bit.”

Tino didn’t think anything could really scare Berwald as much as he could scare everyone else, but he didn’t comment. “Oh. Well, can I see your arm then?”

“G’head.” Berwald held out his elbow awkwardly, and Tino wasted no time in running a hand over his upper arm. God, it was like warm marble, smooth and solid. Secure too, Tino reckoned. He, for one, would feel completely safe with those arms wrapped around him.

“Wow! You must work out every day!” he exclaimed, and in the gloom he almost swore he caught a blush off the other- might have been his imagination though. Did a guy like Berwald even blush?

“And your tattoos too, so beautiful,” he continued to gush. There was so much detail now he was up close, and even in the poor lighting he could see it must’ve taken hours- maybe even days- to ink. Then again, it had probably been nothing to someone like him. The guy looked like he ate pain for breakfast. Tino knew he was probably being a little creepy, but he just loved running the palm of his hand across that succulent tricep, feeling- hang on just a diddly darn moment!

“Are these tattoo sleeves?” asked Tino with a flat voice and dead eyes. Berwald squirmed, giving a strangled noise that he took to be a confirmation.

“Dun put that on yer blog...”

“Hey your secret’s safe with me,” Tino gave him a warm smile as reassurance. “So… got any real ones?”

“Jörmungandr on m’back,” Berwald pointed, though it was still hidden by his shirt. Oh boy would Tino be having a good look at _that_ sometime, along with Berwald’s back muscles. “Gunner has Fenrir and Vidar has Hel.”

“That’s...” kinda weird, and a little dorky, “cute!”

“‘Nd,” Berwald paused abruptly, definitely blushing this time.

“Yes?” Tino drew out the word, a sly smile on his face.

“...Was drunk.”

“A good story then?”

Berwald buried his face in his hands. “Was Gunner’s idea...”

Tino was going to kiss Gunner’s boots. “Hey I’m not gonna judge. You can trust me with your secrets.” He’d whisper those secrets back to him between the sheets of his bed. It was probably best to stop thinking such thoughts though, because skinny jeans would do absolutely nothing to hide the inevitable boner. Not that Berwald would be able to see it, thankfully.

“I-” Berwald whined, “I h’ve ‘how deep is yer love’ tattooed on m’butt… in runic alphabet.”

Holy _fuck_. Was he serious? Tino _definitely_ wanted to take a look at that one. “Really? Oh my gosh that’s so funny!” He gave Berwald’s hand a squeeze when the man resorted to embarrassed mumbling. “We all do stupid shit when we’re drunk, and it’s a pretty funny place to have that written.”

“What about you?”

“I’d say around fourteen centimetres.”

“N’ do ya have tattoos?”

Fuck. He was a complete idiot. “Oh, nah. Not yet.” He’d not found the right one. There were a lot of good tattoos out there and he was only little. Wide, but still little.

“So,” Berwald glanced around, “waddya want to ask me?”

Oh right, the interview. Well, despite being still rather shitfaced, he’d handled things reasonably well so far so this interview would be a piece of-

“Well for starters you can sign my tits.”

Okay never mind his brain and mouth were still apparently running on different engines and the mouth engine was faulty and haywire. Would he get away with vaulting across the car park, changing his name and moving to Timbuktu? Probably not. He could've said stupider, but Tino certainly wasn't happy about it.

Berwald almost smiled at that. “Y’know, I heard of rockstars getting asked that; never thought I’d get asked m’self.”

“And by a sweaty fat guy of all people,” Tino laughed. Feeling bolder from Berwald’s response, he lifted up his shirt; “pick a moob then; I promise I’m not one of those creepy stalker fans.”

Luckily, Berwald still had a spare felt tip in his back pocket. However, he still seemed a little nervous, and unsure, about what he was supposed to do.

“Should I-”

“Just write your name, sweetie.”

“Mm.”

“And maybe your phone number too.”

“Huh?”

“I mean-” why did he do this to himself? What was it about this guy that made Tino lose all sense of shame?

“I’d like to hang out sometime,” he tried instead, “you seem cool.”

“Cool?” Okay, Berwald definitely smiled at that.

“Yeah,” and Tino was definitely blushing, “like, really cool.”

 

...

 

New talent right on my doorstep?

25th August, 2017- thefinnishbear

 

The Screaming Pagans are an Uppsala-based folk metal band formed by maternal cousins Berwald Fredrik Gustavus Oxenstjärna and Gunner Axel Densen in their grandfather’s garage during their time at university. They were later joined by Gilbert Beilschmidt and brothers Adriaan and Luca Morgens, who form the current lineup. Oxenstjärna's powerful voice is accompanied by Densen's superb guitar skills and talented keyboard playing from L. Morgens. And of course, how can we leave out the bass and drums? Beilschmidt and A. Morgens keep the rhythm going and are not to be forgotten!

Until now they regarded themselves as a cover band, but last night I had the pleasure of hearing their first live performance featuring original songs, which Densen and Oxenstjärna inform me they’ve been working on for several years beforehand. The pair have shown themselves- to me, at least- to be more than passionate about researching and perfecting their songs, and have a keen interest in Norse mythology and the Vikings.

All five of the band’s members tell me they recently moved to Stockholm to further their collective careers, and I hear they plan to keep playing in the city until they’re big enough to tour the country- and eventually Europe and the rest of the world! I honestly think they can do it- they’re a likeable bunch of lads and have the passion and talent to go far in this industry.

I hope you Stockholm-based readers will look out for them in the coming months, and that you’ll grow to love them as much as I do. Let’s support fresh this fresh talent- and any other overshadowed talent we come across in future.

Manly hugs and kisses,

Tino V xxx

 

PS. I have the lead singer’s number, get jealous bitches ;P

 

[see all 53 comments]

 

Also by thefinnishbear:

 

Time to settle this once and for all: which Nordic country produces the best metal bands? [see all 55665 comments]

Eight absolute c***s you’ll find in every mosh pit! [see all 315 comments]

Mongolia and Kazakhstan: the hidden gems of metal? [see all 214 comments]

How to tell if your dog likes metal too! [see all 89 comments]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that not every chapter will contain Tino talking about his moobs. Just most of them.
> 
> I know it wasn’t mentioned all that much, but here’s the setlist for the second half:
> 
>  
> 
> Hunting Pirates- Turias
> 
> Luxtos- Eluveitie
> 
> Nehalennia- Heidevolk
> 
> Vodka- Korpiklaani
> 
> Poltava- Sabaton
> 
> Wolf and Raven- Sonata Arctica
> 
> Hold the Heathen Hammer High- Týr
> 
> Leather Rebel- Judas Priest
> 
> Swedish Pagans- Sabaton
> 
> Twilight of the Thunder God


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tone of this chapter feel so weirdly different from the others, it almost doesn’t feel like the same fic. It was fun though, writing them this cute and I hope the rest of the fic will be just as enjoyable, to both me and anyone still interested.

 

Well, Tino didn’t have Berwald pegged as an apple-picking kind of guy, but what did he know? In all honesty, he’d barely recognized the man at first, standing in the shade of an apple tree to escape the glaring- but icy- autumn sun, wrapped up in a thick, knitted jumper, wellies and navy blue coat. He was handsome though, like a young single dad and Tino had to note, now that he was wearing his glasses, his glare softer and not as murderous. Crisp sunlight suited him the best, Tino decided as he noted the soft sparkle to his blond hair. 

He was like a completely different person, without the leather and tattoos and if someone had told Tino he was the lead singer in a metal band, he wouldn’t have bought it for a second. He looked like he’d work in a garden centre or library now. Talk about a double life. But Tino himself was wearing a big ugly jumper himself, with matching knitted bear hat.

“Afternoon,” Tino chirped as he drew closer, “lovely day for it, huh?”

Berwald nodded, fiddling with the empty basket in his hands. When Tino had joined him, he held out his elbow once more, this time to guide the other into the orchard- a true gentleman, huh? After Berwald had suggested this day out, he’d generally left it up to him to plan and organise- because where would Tino know to start with something like this- and although Berwald’s directions for getting to this little farm outside of Stockholm had been clear and precise, Tino had still ended up getting a little lost. Luckily, he had that calming voice on the other end of his loudspeaker to guide him back on the right path. 

Tino missed the country air and scenery, if he was being honest. He’d grown up in the country back home, by a lake and forest he could get lost in for hours with his cousins, but since he’d moved to Stockholm, as lovely as the city was, he’d not really had the time for trips to the countryside. Shame, because Sweden certainly was a beautiful country. Maybe one day he’d even manage to take that trip up north he’d always wanted.

Few people were about, surprisingly. There were other couples though, and families with small children chatting excitedly. He wondered if he and Berwald were a couple though, or at least looked like one. Was this a date? He hadn’t technically asked Berwald out- only to hang out- but this was a very couply thing to do. It was the kind of sickly sweet date idea Tino would come across on pinterest and wonder if anyone actually did for real. Berwald did, apparently. Was this what Berwald found romantic or did he just want some cheap fresh fruit? Tino could respect that.

As Tino pondered whether or not they were on a date, Berwald guided him deeper into the orchard, away past everyone else, and the pair fell into an awkward silence. When he finally noticed, the quiet began to eat at Tino as he found his companion’s expression impossible to read. And now that he felt the need to start a conversation, Tino couldn’t- for the life of him- think of a topic. What the hell could he talk about? Why was his brain frozen? No, nothing. Maybe a joke? Who didn’t love jokes? Why were there no jokes in his brain now? Oh for God’s- wait! No he couldn’t tell another human _that_ one! But there were no other jokes left in his brain… maybe Berwald had the same sick sense of humour. It was worth a shot!

“So,” he began, “you like jokes?”

Berwald nodded. “Love ‘em.”

“Okay, okay,” Tino clapped his hands together. “What has four legs and an arm?”

“Hm?”

“Rottweiler in a playground!”

Okay, it turned out Berwald didn’t have the same sick sense of humour as Tino. Not in the slightest. Tino didn’t even know it was possible for a man to look so horrified, but Berwald was practically blue with disgust! Okay, the guy sang about war and death but it was nice to know where his limits were. No more dead or mutilated kids jokes then...

“Ah, sorry,” he squeaked, “I- well, I didn’t exactly think but-”

“S’fine,” said Berwald simply, and the pair fell into an unbearably painful silence. Tino internally squirmed as he tried to think of anything that could possibly lighten the mood, but the one thing he’d come up with before had been the worse thing possible. What to do? 

“Y’like jokes then?” asked Berwald, and Tino almost jumped at the sudden noise.

“Oh yes!”

“...Puns?”

“Love em!”

Berwald gave a tiny smile at that. “What lies at the b’ttom of the ocean ‘nd twitches?”

A snitch tied to an anvil? No, he couldn’t say that! “I don’t know, Ber.”

“A nerv’us wreck.” Even though he didn’t smile, Berwald still looked proud of himself. 

Tino burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh what a dad joke!” 

“Y’like em?”

“I love dad jokes!” he squealed, “I want to have kids just to embarrass them with them.”

“Hn, well, what did the officer molecule say to the suspect molecule?”

“No idea.”

“I got my ion you,” Berwald blushed slightly, “favourite way t’use my science degree.”

“Punny!” Tino thought for a moment, scratching his chin as he tried to unearth a joke of his own. “Hey, two satellite dishes got married the other day; the wedding wasn’t much, but the reception was incredible!”

“F’ fuck’s-” Berwald buried his face in his hands, giving an exhale that might have been a laugh. 

“Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon? Great food but no atmosphere!”

“I haven't been on a date since I went to the seafood disco,” Tino was not letting up with the jokes, “I pulled a muscle!”

“Yeah? Waddya call a gay guy on the moon?”

“I... don't know,” Tino replied apprehensively.

 

“An astronaut!” cried Berwald in offense.

 

“Christ,” okay he had to laugh at that one; “hey, how does Moses make his tea? Hebrews it!” 

 

Oh gosh Berwald was smiling! It was the most beautiful thing Tino had ever seen, like the universe had been blessed by the angels themselves and that smile could create world peace. Tino’s heart lurched at the sight- how could something so pure make him feel so complete and longing at the same time?

“Scard ‘f lifts,” Berwald mumbled out, “been taking step t’ avoid them.”

“Oh haha!” This would probably go on for a while, so Tino helped himself to a little snack in the form of a ripe, green apple. But before he could take so much as one bite, Berwald had snatched the thing from him and stashed it away in the basket.

“...I guess it would technically be stealing,” Tino said miserably.

“Nn, they’re bramley apples,” Berwald explained.

“Huh?”

“Cooking apples, for pies.” It seemed Berwald had finally found a tree he liked, and- after careful consideration- began picking.

“I like pies,” Tino joined him, trying to choose apples that looked ripe, and free of blemishes. Deep down though, he had no idea what he was doing. “I could bake us one with the apples.” The quickest way to a man’s heart was his stomach, and Tino was certain he could win Berwald over with some wholesome homemade baking.

“Or I c’n bake you a pie,” Berwald replied, a little too quickly.

Vidar was such a Goddamn snitch! He had actually taken the time to warn Berwald about his cooking, of all things? Tino didn’t know what the fuss was, but all his friends and relatives refused to eat a single thing he’d ever cooked.

“Yeah, drop it round whenever you want,” he sighed. Whatever, he’d happily accept homemade baking himself, and the image of Berwald in an apron rolling out pastry and taking a fresh pie of of his oven was a cute concept. For a strong guy, he was surprisingly tender and careful, and Tino could imagine those hands of his carefully adding decoration to the top of the pie- maybe a little pastry heart.

Maybe they could bake something together sometime, and Tino could prove he wasn’t that bad a cook.

He added a handful of apples to the basket, smiling as a dog raced past, followed by a rather harried owner. The air had a bite to it, but he was certain that wasn't the only reason his cheeks were burning. “Oh, hey Ber?”

“Mm?”

“Why do bees hum?”

“Dunno actually.”

“Because they don’t know the words!”

Berwald just smiled, turning away with a blush to pick more apples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW if you’re Swedish or know Swedish, feel free to mentally replace the English puns with Swedish ones. Listen, these two were born to be cheesy dads, and now I’m sad that Sealand and Ladonia aren’t in this fic- but the last SuFin fic I wrote had them so I wanted to try something a little different with this one. But in this universe, they will adopt Sea and Lad together, in like ten years or something.  
> Also that Moses pun is my favourite joke in existence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is this so hard to write? Well, it isn’t that so much as I had other things to do. And I’m starting to panic because I’m not even close to finishing my hetalia big bang story. I love this story though, and honestly find it so funny how with most of my fics I’m like ‘wow this is sadder and more horrible than people imagine mwahaha’ and with this I’m like ‘this is cuter and fluffier than people imagine hehe’. It’s a nice change. I feel like I fuck this ship over so much I owe them a non-angsty fic, though the same could be said for pretty much anything I ship.

 

Good on his promise, Berwald delivered a fresh, warm pie the next afternoon.

It was a sight Tino would call perfect, all things considered. There he was on his doorstep, now looking oh so incredibly classy in a black turtleneck and jacket, smelling of sweet apples and cinnamon, and with a small smile on his face. Despite how they were merely in a new, tentative friendship, Tino had to note how domestic the whole scene was, like he could easily get used to seeing Berwald step into his flat and take off his shoes and jacket and hand him home made food.

He decided not to mention that though, because Berwald was only in the hallway and could just as easily run back out again.

“Oh wow this looks delicious,” he practically hoovered up the pie as he inhaled it, but managed to restrain himself from licking it. It was perfect though- the kind of pie you’d see on a professional cooking show and never be able to recreate yourself, with a little pastry apple decoration, a neat row of air holes and the most glorious aroma from inside. “Oh, I bought some cream to go with it too, if that’s alright with you.”

“Mm,” Berwald spared him a warm glance before taking in the flat Tino had thoroughly cleaned for the first time in a year, right down to polishing ornaments that weren’t his CD collection and finally putting all the vodka bottles and energy drinks cans in the recycling, as opposed to their original home on the floor around his computer desk. The salmiakki boxes, tuna cans and cakes packets, too, had disappeared from the floorboards he could now finally see clearly, along with a few things he wasn’t sure how he lived without- controllers, USB sticks and spare keys. He’d even found a cheque his grandma had sent him for his last birthday and boy was he going to eat well this week. To be honest, Tino preferred his flat like this, and made a note to keep on top of his cleaning.

“So, make yourself at home.” Berwald didn’t seem too keen on taking that advice though, standing awkwardly in the main room of Tino’s studio flat like he was scared to touch and break anything. There was a hint of wonder too, Tino noted, and he almost swore he heard Berwald mutter something along the lines of ‘can’t believe I’m in Tino’s house’. Okay then, he had to have misheard that one because they barely acknowledged each other as kids. Or maybe Vidar had also let slip the general state of Tino’s flat- not that he was an untidy person compared to a lot of people, but like his cooking it just didn’t happen to be the best. 

Just as he wondered if he should ask though, Berwald was momentarily distracted by a certain little dog bounding in to see who this stranger was.

Kukkamuna only needed a moment to get used to the fact that someone who wasn’t her owner- or one of said owner’s usual weird friends- was in her home before she was jumping up at him. Berwald just smiled as he bent down, offering the back of his hand for her to lick. 

“S’cute.” He stroked her gently, chuckling as the little dog jumped up, even succeeding in catching his nose with her tongue and he picked her up to let her lick his face.

“That’s a good sign,” Tino noted as he set the pie on the kitchen worktop, pulling out the crackers and chicken pâté he’d bought specially for whenever his handsome singer came over. “Hey you’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

“Nn, and what’ya mean?”

“Well,” Tino set the tray of food down on the coffee table, “if Kukkamuna likes you, then I like you. A dog being able to trust a person is usually a good sign that they’re sensitive and caring, you know? It doesn’t matter if it’s friendship or romance, but you have to pass the Kukkamuna test with me.” He decided to mention both, since he still had no idea which of the two summed up his relationship with Berwald. He joined the man on the sofa, Kukkamuna still in his arms and loving his doting attention, and even sharing a conversation consisting of barks and yaps. Yes, Tino definitely liked Berwald more than before, and he’d not known that was possible.

“Mm.”

“Oh,” and Tino was up on his feet again, “I didn’t make you a coffee! My, how rude of me.”

“Um-”

“Milk? Sugar?”

Berwald nodded. “Uh, both.”

“Sure thing,” and he was back in the kitchenette, whipping out a pair of mugs, both of which were emblazoned with ‘a yawn is a silent scream for coffee’. They were actually the mugs he saved whenever he hung out with Vidar or Eduard, but he was willing to branch out here- after all, he didn’t exactly have the social life he aspired to at times. He was happy with his close knit group of weirdos though, but sometimes he wondered what it would be like to be popular, as popular as he was on his blog at least.

But whatever, right now all he needed was Berwald and Kukkamuna, and there they were. He glanced back to smile warmly at the two as the coffee machine dripped out that glorious, dark liquid. Kukkamuna was in Berwald’s arms, licking his neck and jaw like he was made of chorizo and chicken and the sight warmed his heart so much he had to turn away and discretely clutch his chest. After that, the coffee machine just took too long to finish for him, but eventually he was back on the sofa with what looked like the two new best friends.

“So...” he began, “got any concerts coming up?”

“A few. ‘Bout the city. Small things.”

“Ah, you’ll be doing big tours soon.”

“Mm.”

“A lot of people read my article about you,” Tino tried, “I’m not trying to brag, I just hope it helps in some way.” He wondered what the band had to say on the article, and if Berwald thought it was professional enough, and nice and flattering. Not that that was the reason Tino wrote it, of course. He also hoped Berwald hadn’t minded that postscript he put, largely as a joke.

“‘Preciate it.”

“Got any other plans?”

Berwald seemed to perk up at that. “The band is doin’ a tough mudder. Around October t’me.”

And Tino perked up at that. “Oh really?”

“Want to raise money for our old youth club,” a veil of melancholy seemed to wash over him at that, “used to practice there.”

“Oh, is it closing down?”

Berwald’s eyebrows creased together, mouth pulled into a deeper frown than normal. “Not ‘f I can help it.”

“Hey good for you, I mean it.” Tino scratched his chin as he wondered what else he could say here. Well, there was something he really wanted to ask but wasn’t sure if it was imposing or not. “So are you collecting donations or something? Cause I don’t mind don-”

“Was gon ask if y’d want t’join.”

“Like? Actually compete?” Well that was almost a dream come true for Tino. A day outside with Berwald and the rest of the Screaming Pagans? Completing one of the coolest obstacle courses that wasn’t Takeshi’s castle? Getting nice and muddy and down in the dirt? Well he was sold.

“If ya want.”

“Would that be okay?” He just wanted to make sure- coming across as a fool in front of Berwald wasn’t something he was certain he could take. “I- I mean I’d love to and all, but would that be okay with the band? It’s not a personal thing for just you five, right?”

Berwald shook his head. “Vidar’s doing it too. ‘Nd his girlfriend.”

Oh right, Natalya. It’d be fun to see the cool, composed ice couple themselves tripping and stumbling through mud and freezing water. “Okay, I’ll ask Eduard to come cheer us on. Probably won’t ask him to sign up though.”

Berwald nodded in understanding. Eduard had barely survived moshing- a tough mudder might actually kill him. Maybe his other cousin would be interested though. As Tino was about to suggest it, he noticed something about Berwald’s head that caused more questions than he needed right now. These questions would need to be voiced though.

“Ber,” he began, “why is there pâté behind your ear?”

Berwald froze. He froze some more. And then a bit more for the hell of it. It was a full minute before his brain seemed to tell him he needed to speak. “I, um-”

“You know what? Never mind.” Tino just waved him off. “We all do weird shit.”

“‘Kay.”

“Yeah though, it’ll be fun,” Tino glanced up again, trying to ignore the chicken pâté and his wonderment at how Berwald could possibly be _that_ messy an eater, and just focusing on those eyes, warm and bordered with crow’s feet, thin lips, so soft and inviting. He supposed at a glance, Berwald looked somewhat scary, but between the lines that face was earnest, protective, mature and solid, like he would be there for a friend or loved and until the end. Handsome too, especially up close. Berwald noticed his staring, giving an awkward smile that just drew him closer- too close, Tino noted with a jolt.

He jumped back before their lips could touch, finding himself quite unable to breathe or look back up. He’d not known what that was all about, but boy was he glad he’d caught wind when he did- how the hell would such behaviour seem to Berwald? 

“Um-” He glanced back up to find Berwald slightly red; oh no! He’d embarrassed him!

“Look,” he tried again hurriedly, “want some pie now?”

A hurried nod from Berwald sent him scrambling back into the kitchen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually originally wrote this with Tino using a kettle to make instant coffee before realising he would probably never do such a thing unless he was desperate for coffee. My bad. I don’t even drink coffee unless we’ve ran out of tea bags and I never drink proper coffee unless my mum buys it by accident, and have no idea how to use a coffee machine.
> 
> I’m not sure if Takeshi’s castle was ever broadcast in Sweden, but it was in Finland and actually called Hullut japanilaiset ("The Crazy Japanese"). Rude, Finland. But man I miss watching that...
> 
> My dad did a tough mudder a few years ago… thought he was gonna die from it to be honest, but he is fifty… I’m referring to it as a ‘tough mudder’ here because I’m not too sure what they’re called in Sweden. For those unfamiliar, it’s a big muddy obstacle course.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katya- Ukraine
> 
>  
> 
> ...
> 
>  
> 
> Boom, got through this one pretty promptly, mostly because it was stupid and the humour was stupid and I am an immature child.
> 
> I love these two as family though and wish there was more stuff of Finland and Estonia [and Hungary] as cousins or relatives/friends in general. Come on they’re all so wonderfully weird and must be so fun at family get togethers.

 

“Listen, he’s basically a DILF,” Tino was gushing over a lap tray piled with bowls of sweets, “you know, except I don’t think he has kids he just wears dad jumpers. And makes dad jokes.”

“So do you,” Eduard commented, sprawled out next to him, “on all accounts.” He licked the gap where a canine used to be, a habit impossible to drop now since his trip to the dentist to get any remnant shards of root removed. Fucking Tino.

“Yes but he looks classy in his jumpers, like he does his taxes on time and is secretly into bondage.” Tino slipped another sliver of liquorice into his mouth, as if the past ten minutes of talking whilst chewing hadn’t been infuriating enough.

“You just hope he’s into bondage,” Eduard wrinkled his nose at that. 

“I mean, yeah.”

Eduard looked like he’d throw up at that. “Too much information, my dear cousin.”

Tino rolled his eyes. “Oh come on! We’re the bestest friends; we tell each other everything, right?”

“I’m drawing the line at bondage.”

“And which side of this hypothetical line would everything else I’m into fall?”

“Take a wild guess.” Eduard rubbed his face, features contorted and crinkled in disgust as he tried not to think about the various other kinks Tino had mentioned over the years- sadism still haunted him to this day. He hoped Berwald knew what he was possibly letting himself in for.

“Can we at least drink and talk?” he tried.

“Sure thing, I saved a bottle of Viru Valge specially. It’s in my chest of drawers.”

“Strange place to keep a bottle.” But Eduard complied, meandering over to have a dig for this mysterious bottle of vodka. Instead, he pulled out a riding crop and some handcuffs.

“Wrong drawer,” was all Tino cared to comment.

As he held the offending items at arm’s length, Eduard gave a smirk. “Is this your secret drawer for when you actually go on a date with Berwald?”

“Woah!” Tino recoiled in horror, “third date at least!”

“Okay.” And they were back in the drawer, and Eduard was a little less innocent. The next drawer down- thankfully- contained the bottle Eduard needed more than ever now and he’d taken a swig even before he’d sat back down.

“No shot glasses- my man!” Tino laughed and lightly punched his cousin’s arm, taking a swig for himself.

“Look, if you’re going to be disgusting,” Eduard was saying, “just get it all out in one go so I can not listen. Then can we please have an adult conversation?”

“Oh I’ll give you an adult conversation,” Tino wiggled his eyebrows, “look, on the one hand I wanna just lie back and let the guy have his way with me, but on the other I also wanna dominate the fuck outta him, ya see my problem? Like, he’s so big I just want to tie him up and boss him around but in a cute couple way.”

Eduard just stared at his nails.

“Dude he has muscles to spare, but he’s not like some bodybuilder type- it actually looks nice and natural, like a majestic viking warrior- like those ones you’d see on the covers of… grown up books.”

“Really? Everything you’ve said and you’re going to censor ‘erotica’?”

Tino shrugged. “It felt too sappy. Either way, he can pillage my arsehole anytime he wants.”

“You’re so weird.”

“So you’re not gonna be surprised when I say I wanna spank Berwald up and-”

“What did I do to deserve this?” interrupted Eduard, “seriously? Besides let myself get dragged into losing a tooth.”

“I’m sorry about your tooth, okay Eddie?” said Tino for the tenth time in four days.

“It’s okay, my man, I get that you’re in love.”

“Woah don’t go throwing the ‘L’ word at me,” Tino seemed to recoil at that.

Eduard snorted. “You know the ‘L’ word can sense fear? Don’t shy away from it.”

“I have known the man four days,” Tino hissed, “I mean, technically longer, but we’ve only been friends four days.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Eduard sank back in the sofa, smiling the tiniest, but smuggest smile, “I mean, you don’t even know if he likes you that way.”

“That’s what I’m scared of,” sighed Tino, “what if he only sees me as a friend? And one of those embarrassing friends you regret talking to in the first place and are just annoying but you’re stuck with them for a while.”

“You mean like us? Except we’re family so I’m stuck with you forever.”

“Funny, Eddie. Look, what if I ask him out on a date and he gets creeped out?” Tino buried his face in his hands, “what if things get awkward? Like, permanently and never go back to normal. What if we stop speaking and I never get to see that gorgeous man again?”

“What if he says yes though?” asked Eduard, surprisingly ernest.

Tino gave a whine. “Oh my that would be incredible.”

“And then you could get together and either be with this man for the rest of your existence or break up horribly and get emotionally fucked and just feel like you’ve been stabbed in the stomach.”

Tino almost threw his tray across the room. “For the last time I’m sorry for punching you!”

“Well-” Eduard didn’t get to finish that sentence due to a soft, but decisively firm, knock on the door.

“Oh fuck,” Tino hissed, “it’s Ms Vynnychenko!”

“How can you-”

“It’s her, okay?”

As if to wonderfully prove his point, a soft, accented voice called from outside: “Mr Väinämöinen?”

“I’m not here,” Tino hissed to his cousin, burying his face in his hands, “pretend the place is empty.”

“I know you’re in there; I hear you every time.”

“You have to answer for me,” Tino pushed Eduard off the sofa, “tell her I’ve gone abroad for a month.”

“To where?”

“I don’t know, Germany? No wait,” he grabbed Eduard’s sleeve, “Morocco.” Eduard moved towards the door but was stopped again- “no wait: Bolivia!”

“Whatever, just hide,” he shrugged his cousin away, ambling over to the door with the resigned feeling of mild disappointment that always came whenever he had to cover Tino’s tracks. At least this time there were no police involved, and he wouldn’t have to bail Tino’s drunk butt out of jail.

Ms Vynnychenko defied all his expectations with a glance. He’d assumed her to be an elderly, stern little thing, all wrinkles and glares and maybe a granny scarf too, someone who could certainly terrify Tino. He’d fight the toughest, meanest looking guy in the world but old ladies scared him for some reason. The guy was weird and Eduard had long stopped questioning it.

Ms Vynnychenko, however, was- well- perfect by all accounts. She was almost as tall as him, shoulders relaxed and welcoming under a warm yellow jumper, and her concerned expression couldn’t keep back a smile- polite and controlled, but inviting all the same. Her hair was short and bouncy, and looked so soft Eduard had to restrain himself from reaching out and brushing his fingers through her fringe. 

“You are not Mr Väinämöinen,” her eyes were a dazzling blue, kind but with a sternness Eduard didn’t want to cross- not that he had any desire to do such a thing. They were wide and confused here though, face one of suspicion. 

“No, I am his cousin,” Eduard hoped his hair wasn't out of place, or that his glasses weren’t wonky. “Tino’s gone out.”

“I can tell,” Ms Vynnychenko glanced past him, “he just jumped out the window.” 

“He’s going to Bolivia,” replied Eduard simply.

“Oh. I hope he has fun. When will Mr Väinämöinen be back?”

Eduard shrugged. “Tonight maybe. He might’ve forgotten his keys again so expect him to check in for a spare pair.”

“I see. Well, I will have words with him then, I suppose.”

“I can pass on a message, if you want;” anything to keep her here and talking, even for a little while, and even if it meant secondhand embarrassment. 

“Oh I have no wish to,” Ms Vynnychenko seemed to struggle to find the correct phrase for a moment, flapping her hands slightly, “throw about a person’s dirty washing.”

“It’s okay. I know he screams in the shower- he does it at my place too.” At least, Eduard had to assume it was a noise complaint.  

“It is the loud music too,” the landlady mumbled with some reluctance.

“I will talk to him about headphones.” Again.

“Thank you, Mr-”

He flashed a dazzling smile. “Call me Eduard.”

“Katya. Nice to meet you, Mr Eduard.” Her smile fell. “Oh, your tooth. What happened?”

Tino. Tino Väinämöinen happened. “I was out moshing.” Technically true, but Eduard had no idea why he was bragging about it- he didn’t actually like moshing. For added effect, he leaned against the doorframe. Unfortunately- as was often the case with Eduard- he miscalculated his lean and almost went tumbling off to the side; he straightened himself up with a blush. 

“Oh, moshing?” Katya couldn’t help a smile, and Eduard took that to be encouraging.

“Yeah, I was at a concert, for an underground metal band you probably never heard of, they’re very… not mainstream.” Whatever the word was.

“Sounds very fascinating,” okay, she wasn’t interested in what was actually _Tino’s_ hobby. Good to know. Why did Eduard even go down that route in the first place? Did Katya look like a metalhead? No. No she didn't.

It was Katya who broke the awkward silence that followed. “Anyway, please pass on the message to Mr Väinämöinen. I should get going now.” But when she turned to leave, Eduard gave the oddest choking noise.

“Urm,” he spluttered, “if you have nothing to do, would you like to get a coffee with me?”

“That would be lovely,” she did genuinely seem disappointed, “but I do have some other things...”

“Five minutes,” he tried, “I’m sure being a landlady is a stressful job and you deserve a little relax.” He’d be stressed if Tino was his tenant. Well, Tino was his cousin and he was still stressed.

Katya smiled warmly. “You know what? That sounds nice, actually.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the unexpected hiatus. Uni hit and I have a lot of other stories to update, but I’d like to keep updates for this more consistent from now on, and not just because this is the fic people actually read.   
> Honestly, I don’t think this fic is gonna be amazingly long. Like, more than twenty chapters, but I doubt I’ll reach thirty. And yes that’s short for me! I’ll get it done, though. Bully me if I don’t.  
> Oh, and I went back and changed Belgium’s name to Isabel because that’s the name I use for her now.

“Oh, what a lovely day!”

Tino was perfectly happy to converse with his dog in public, and did so freely as he strode down the street, ignoring the stares and glares for daring to disturb the peace, with pointless rambling to an animal of all things. What did he care? Kukkamuna was a very good listener.

“I hope you have fun today,” he just continued, “but try not to make a mess of uncle Berwald’s house - we want to stay on his good side.”

She yapped in response, and not one of those sarcastic yaps she give before taking a dump on the hall floor the moment they came in from their walkies despite having a whole hour in the park to do so, but a genuine yap like she would actually behave. Maybe she knew what was at stake here?

It was really a lovely day though: the sun shone in its crisp autumn beauty and there was no sweltering heat to leave him sunburnt within five minutes. That was always nice. Unfortunately though, it was a little too early in the year for those nice crunchy fallen leaves to tread on, and Christmas was still four months away. Four whole months and yet there was so little time to prepare. What was he like? Eduard could probably answer that for him. The police also had a file to describe what he was like too.

For some reason, even though Berwald was in his twenties and probably couldn’t afford a house, being the lead singer of an unknown band, Tino was certain the guy lived in one. A neat house with freshly cut grass and white shutters. Detached or semi-detached. With an enormous kitchen, so big it had one of those islands.

He gasped at the concept. They could boink on the island!

Except he didn’t have a house! Berwald had explicitly told him he shared a flat with Gunner, and sometimes Tolli would sleep on the sofa if he wanted to run away but not permanently and was just trying to make a point. The other three band members could also often be found practising or passed out in various rooms. Tino thought the noise and bustle sounded fun, but Berwald had admitted he’d prefer a bit of quiet now and again. And a tidy flat for once.

He’d even mentioned he was a little jealous of Tino living alone; he could keep his flat tidy and sleep in peace.

Oh sweet, innocent Berwald.

He did eventually find the block of flats, still disappointed in how normal it was. Regular flats with little white balconies. Something told him the one dripping with hanging baskets and beer can decorations was where he’d end up, and it really was a shame it wasn’t possible to make a bet with himself because he’d obviously win. And lose.

But if he started arguing with himself he’d just be proving that judge in Copenhagen right, so instead, Tino rang the doorbell.

He waved pleasantly to an old couple as he waited, the two shuffling along, hand-in-hand, smiling at him and each other. It gave him hope, seeing old people happily in love after all that time, after having to live with someone and their habits and farts and smelly socks for so long. Maybe he’d have that one day. With Berwald. Or Tony Kakko. Or any member of Sabaton.

But preferably Berwald.

Speaking of which, he looked beautiful as he answered the door. Maybe Berwald had an endless supply of turtleneck jumpers, because he was wearing one yet again, a deep blue beauty. Tino had never seen him in jog bottoms before, though.

“Hey, Berry,” he greeted, “look, I’m on-time and everything!”

“Didn’t doubt ya,” he gave one of his beautiful smiles. Kukkamuna yapped a hello and jumped up at his leg.  

“You’d be surprised how many people do,” he smiled back as he was lead into the hall. ”You know, based on a mountain of evidence.” Berwald didn’t reply, but Tino swore he saw the hint of a smile as he closed the door.

“Sorry I don’t have a pie to give you,” he said as they climbed the stairs, “but the last one I made burnt so it’s probably for the best.”

Berwald definitely smiled at that. 

“Then there was the chocolate mousse that was more like chocolate milk,” he continued, since his lack of cooking was so _fucking_ hilarious to most people, “and all those crispy black pizzas. And that soup I burnt.”

“How-”

“I forgot it was on the stove and all the water evaporated out of it. All I was left was this clay-like thing. Like, some gross paste.”

“Y’tasted it?”

“I was a broke student.”

Berwald patted his shoulder, letting him into a flat that had recently - but hurriedly - been cleaned. Clearly. Tino was glad he wasn't the only one trying to make an effort. He could see what touches were Berwald’s and what were Gunner’s, or at least he guessed the shelf of carefully put together lego sets of various landmarks belonged to the Dane. Not to stereotype, but they probably did. There was also a death star model that would’ve made Eduard weak at the knees. The cookbooks probably belonged to Berwald. 

“So which one of you collects boats,” he asked, bending down to admire the shelf full of them. He especially liked the little ones in bottles.

“Gunner,” said Berwald, taking his coat, “we both collect things.”

Tino turned to him with a smile. “Oh? And what do you collect?” 

He shrugged. “Books. Swords.”

Tino’s eyes widened. “That’s hot. Really hot. And pretty badass.”

Berwald almost smiled at that. “Mm, Gunner ‘n me, we dun have a lot’ve money cause of hobbies. ‘N alcohol.”

Their job was singing in a band with a total of six fans. And Tino thought he was bad at budgeting.

“Have you considered not buying swords?”

Berwald looked absolutely horrified.

“Or CDs,” Tino glanced past him at yet another shelf, “then again, I like a man with a massive CD collection.” Did that sound suggestive? Alluring? Or just weird and creepy? Still, what kind of music did Berwald actually listen to? He knew he was being nosy, but Berwald absolutely fascinated him, and since trying to get the guy to talk about himself was like pulling teeth, he might as well snoop while he could.

“You don’t mind if I have a little peruse, right?” he said with a wink. Berwald shrugged and left him to it, setting about making a pot of coffee. 

The first thing Tino noticed was that a sizeable chunk of the CDs had been recently removed, from the top shelf, a band or singer beginning with ‘A’, he suspected, given that Berwald had alphabetised his collection. He could see some odd choices of music just from a glance, so what was particularly embarrassing about this one band, since he’d taken the time to hide it from him?

He had a Sarek CD, for Christ’s sake!

Besides that, there seemed to be every metal band he'd heard, plus a few unfamiliar albums that looked more folk in nature.

“Interesting tastes,” he commented, picking up a Gloryhammer album.

“S’Gunner’s,” Berwald mumbled, shuffling up awkwardly next to him.

“Figured.” He didn’t know if the man was lying, but he could well believe Gunner listened to songs about space wizards and evil unicorns. He and Christopher Bowes gave off the same chaotic energy, now that he thought about it. “I’m guessing he’s also the Alestorm and Ninja Sex Party fan. What a man.”

“Like ‘em too,” Berwald mumbled. Tino raised his eyebrows and turned to him with a wicked smile.

“I never took you for a pirate metal fan.”

Berwald shrugged. “Grew on me.”

Tino would like to grow on him too. He decided not to even wonder what that was supposed to mean. “Where is Gunner anyway?” 

“Adriaan’s. Guitar practice.”

“I thought Adriaan played bass.”

“Big guitar.”

Tino smiled.

“Ye can stay for dinner,” Berwald mumbled after an uncomfortable silence. Tino just thanked him, deciding not to mention that had been what they’d already decided over the phone. They fell back into awkward silence.

Tino played with his jumper, glancing around for something - anything - he could talk about. He spied a room just past Berwald’s arm, door shut. “Oh? What’s in there?” 

“M’workshop!” Berwald, ever so slightly, puffed out his chest.

“Where you practice singing and… triangle?”

He blushed slightly. “Writing.”

Tino perked up at that, bristling excitedly. “Like, original songs?” Berwald nodded. Right! He forgot the guy wrote the band's songs. “Songs you’ve recorded or are still writing?”

“Both. All stages.” He covered his face with a hand. “Lotta crap.”

“Would it be okay if I was the judge of what counts as crap?” Tino asked sheepishly, “I mean, after all, we’re all our own worst critics. Actually, for me it’s Eduard. And this one Norwegian guy who comes on my blog to pick apart everything I write, just because I think Finnish metal is better.”

“Vidar?”

“You know what? I think it could be.” Tino brushed against his arm ever so lightly. “So, your workshop… if you’re okay with that, of course!”

He nodded, “please…”

Though he was bristling with excitement, he waited for Berwald to actually let him in, rather than barge in. He wrote a lot of angry poetry as a teen, and if his mum or cousins had just barged in and read them, he’d… well, he’d have cried and wrote another angry poem about trust. He was going to respect what looked like Berwald’s private space for private songwriting.

Then, when Berwald tentatively lead him inside, he forgot all that upon spying the name of the first song he saw. And the second.

“‘I want to fuck Thor’?” he picked up a scruffy sheet of paper, raising an eyebrow. “‘Odin is my daddy’?” He was in love.

Berwald was definitely blushing this time, and buried his face in his hands. “S’Gunner’s songs!”

“Oh! Well Gunner is a creative genius!” He scrolled down the lyrics, still clearly in their rough stages, but funny nonetheless. He had to laugh at a few lines. “I love them!”

“I wrote them! Gunner can’t write shi-heck!”

Tino smiled at him. “Look, I’m not gonna judge you for anything! I know you’re a dork; you don’t have to impress me. You think I’d judge you for writing something funny and weird? Look at me.” He paused. “You were writing a funny song right?”

Berwald just. “Jus’ thought it would be a laugh.”

“Mmm, honestly there’s no need for boundaries in metal. Go for it! I mean, what’s the point in writing metal if it doesn’t piss someone off, somewhere?”

Berwald smiled ever so slightly at that. Tino smiled back.

"Wanna show me some of your other songs?"

He nodded, almost shaking with excitement.

* * *

“And anyway,” Tino said through a mouthful of potato, “then Érzsebét had to explain to me that Boney M sang the original version of Rasputin, and wasn’t a cover band.”

Berwald raised an eyebrow, looking at him judgmentally. It was the same look Eduard gave him, sometimes. Often. 

“I’d just heard Turias’ version first!” he insisted, “I don’t listen to a lot outside metal! I’m not an idiot, I swear!”

“Never said y’were,” Berwald waved a hand. “S’cute.”

“I’m not cute,” Tino mumbled.

“Y’are. Very. It’s cute.”

He pretended to scowl, but couldn’t. He’d just spent an hour or so talking about his various internet fights like some loser, and Berwald thought he was cute? Him? Tino? The guy who corrected people’s grammar online despite English being his third language and him not actually knowing the grammar that well? It was just fun to make people mad when he couldn’t come up with a decent argument.

It hadn’t all been talk of himself though! He wasn’t _that_ vain, and didn’t really like talking about himself and being the centre of attention, it was just that - _sometimes_ \- Berwald left him struggling for conversation.

Berwald had talked about his music, and even some of his more serious songs, the more personal ones. It was clear he had a passion for it, and he explained - or tried to anyway - that singing and songwriting let him communicate more easily. That he didn’t have to think as much and could actually say how he felt. Ironically, he was having trouble with the song he was writing about the topic. Tino understood.

“You think I’m cute?” he asked sincerely. Berwald shrugged. “Well I think you’re very cute too. Like a teddy bear.”

Berwald smiled and mumbled something into the collar of his turtleneck. Tino smiled and took his hand, squeezing it gently. They looked into each other’s eyes a little too long, and Berwald quickly looked away.

“S’late,” he mumbled, “why not stay t'night?”

Tino blinked. “Uh, sure, yeah! Grounds sate- er, sounds great!”

“I’d offer you Gunner’s bed but,” Berwald pulled a face, “wouldn’t touch it. Can’t do that t’ya.”

“Wouldn’t he be coming back at some point anyway?”

Berwald shook his head. “Nn. Staying over at Adriaan’s. Got the place t’ ourselves.”

To themselves, huh?

“Me and Kukkamuna would really appreciate it,” he said, “she loves you.” He… okay it was a little early to be seriously calling it love, but he did like the guy. A lot. And he wanted to spend more time with him. But what did Berwald mean by him staying the night? Were they gonna do… stuff? All jokes aside, he found himself thinking it was maybe a little too soon. He wasn’t even sure they were dating, though that would be one hell of a confirmation.

“I- I like you too,” he added. “You’re sweet. And good.”

Berwald smiled behind his hand, wiggling ever so slightly, like a happy worm.

“Got a tent,” he mumbled with a shrug, “could set it up in here. Be fun.”

“Ooh! I like camping! Especially when it’s all cold and rainy outside and you have to snuggle up for warmth, especially if you get snowed in like 'hey, might as well make the best of it!'” People usually looked at him like he was mad when he said that, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe it was some ancient mammal instinct that made him want to burrow somewhere warm and safe, or maybe he liked having an excuse to cling to someone like a lamprey. He wasn’t one for closeness or even being touched, but, on occasion, he liked to snuggle.

Sometimes, he just needed a bit of warmth, but it had to be with someone special. His cousins, his mother, or maybe Vidar if either of them were feeling drunk and emotional, and maybe - quite possibly - Berwald. Anyone else, and he’d probably retreat into his own skeleton.

“Sounds cosy,” Berwald agreed. He actually agreed with him on that?

“And you?” he tried - Berwald clearly liked camping, so maybe it would be a topic he actually talked about. Actually, that was unfair. He apparently loved talking about his work, and his favourite bands. And sword collecting. He didn't think he'd ever been more turned on than when Berwald had showed off all the ornate swords hanging in his room. “What’s your favourite part about camping?”

“Pitching a tent by a lake,” he shrugged, “watching the sunrise o’er the water, sitting with a coffee and some pastries.” He smiled wistfully, resting his chin on a hand. “With a special someone. Romantic.”

Tino nodded. “Yeah, romantic…”

Berwald shook himself slightly and stood up, presumably to get the tent. He paused at the window behind Tino and chuckled. When Tino looked around, he saw that it was pouring rain.

“Cosy weather!” said Berwald excitedly.

“Yes! Perfect for staying over,” Tino grinned, “and snuggling up with you.” 

He hated the rain, so was pretty glad he and Kukkamuna could stay over. If you were going to have ‘bad’ weather, you might as well make it snow. Snow was fun and crunchy and the perfect temperature to lie in. Rain just got you wet and cancelled plans.

Actually, he did love cancelling plans, a lot of the time. And rain wasn't so bad when he was inside and warm. It did make a comforting sound.

He blushed and dipped into his bedroom, returning with a tent bag and Kukkamuna, now awake from her nap on his pillow. He smiled as the tiny dog ran around him, jumping up excitedly. He’d never seen her take to someone so quickly before. Berwald loved her too, that much was clear; he smiled so freely around Kukkamuna, like it was impossible to hide anything from her, least of all his adoration.

Tino wasn’t in love yet, but he was as close to it as a person could get.

“Want me to help with that?” he asked. Berwald shrugged. So a ‘yes’ then?

Tino jumped up and, after standing around awkwardly awaiting instructions, began feeding poles through their respective holes. He wasn’t that good at teamwork, but they got the thing set up without wanting to kill each other.

“Hey,” he began as Berwald arranged a duvet and pillows inside the little two-man tent, “wanna hear something funny?”

“Mm.”

“About what I said earlier, about only listening to metal bands and thinking all their songs are the original. Around the same time I first started thinking about writing a metal blog, I made an angry post on some forum complaining about Britney Spears ripping off Children of Bodom’s song, ‘Oops I did it again’.”

Berwald’s mouth twitched upwards.

“And you know the internet, they can always let a mistake go,” he had to laugh at himself, “it did teach me to always research before I write, though.”

Berwald was smiling at that, collecting soft blankets from around the room to add to their little nest.

“And don’t even get me started on the time I, in a room full of Swedes, started referring to ABBA as a cover band, doing disco versions of famous metal songs-”

Berwald laughed at that. He actually laughed! The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, hiding his laugh behind his hand. The sound - so gentle and faint, but there nonetheless - warmed Tino’s heart and left him clutching his chest, and smiling like a mad idiot. It was the most beautiful sound!

Forget everything, Tino might actually be in love.

They sat in the tent and talked for hours, Kukkamuna between them, dozing happily as the two lazily stroked her fur. Berwald talked about the things he and Gunner got up to at university, including starting a band, whilst Tino talked about growing up in Finland, and all the shenanigans he and his cousins got up to. All throughout, he wondered if Berwald was going to make a move, but he didn’t. He wondered if he should make a move himself.

But he didn’t.

Eventually, he fell asleep in Berwald arms, and that was enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m… actually a massive fan of Sarek, Gloryhammer, Alestorm and Ninja Sex Party and would recommend all of them. But, honestly, I’ll listen to anything, if the 36 chapter fic inspired by Garth Brooks’ music is anything to go by. I’ve long stopped questioning my music tastes and now apparently project them onto APH Denmark. (Actually, Sweden is the Sarek fan here but shh don’t embarrass him in front of his crush he’s trying to look hard and metal and already failing).  
> Also every photo of Christopher Bowes is a) beautiful and b) very Denmark.


End file.
